Right Here With Me
by tonnie2001969
Summary: There's a moment in the middle of the night when the actions of the day become glaringly real. Written in response to Kavi's TV Prompt Challenge 10 - Happy Days: Like Mother Like Daughter. AU, of course


**_Written for Kavi's TV Challenge Set #10: Happy Days - "Like Mother Like Daughter." Thanks to Tracia for suggesting I write something for the challenge._**

**Right Here With Me**

There's a certain comfort that comes from hearing my husband's snores.

Now, don't get me wrong. Normally, when David Rossi chooses to imitate a freight train at three o'clock in the morning, my first instinct is not to think sweet nothings. No, my immediate response is usually to punch him…hard….in the ribcage, my elbow making impact in a way that immediately gets his attention and quietens the rumbles. I learned this the first night we slept together. Hyperbole does not apply to this man and his ability to rattle the rafters. I value my sleep now, and don't take kindly to interruptions of any form.

But tonight….tonight is different.

Turning carefully in our bed that we've shared for almost two years, I look at his sleeping face, the pale shards of moonlight glancing off of his weary face. Even in slumber, the tell-tale signs of the earlier battle are still evident. Trying not to sigh, I prop by chin on my hand, elbow resting on my pillow instead of his ribs.

He's earned those snores tonight, and I'm going to let him have them.

This time, though, he hadn't wakened me. I'm not sure I had really gone to sleep since we hit the mattress. My mind wouldn't shut off, insisting on reliving events and looking for roads not taken.

Shifting against the mattress, I drop my hand to my belly, rubbing circles against my bump under the soft satin as I feel the tell-tale stirrings of our daughter. The little one is still tightly inside, and I have to admit that it's probably more due to him than me today. And that makes me thankful to him…and more than a little pissed at myself.

I reach my hand out then, fingertips smoothing against his forehead as I sweep a lock of hair back into place. He doesn't even move, just reinforcing my earlier thoughts that he was dead tired. Shuddering for a moment at the choice of my thoughts, I have to take that moment and remind myself that he isn't dead. David Rossi is alive and well…well, alive and asleep….right here in bed with me.

And I'm more than content to keep my eyes, and my hands, on his chest all night to make sure it stays that way.

It's only when I suddenly realize that our bedroom has become silent that my eyes flash, suddenly frightened, back to his face. And his strong black eyes meet mine, a small inquisitive smile playing on his lips.

He doesn't move, though. His voice, sleep husky, waves over me as he states, heavily, "You're awake."

I nod, slowly, not speaking, my blonde hair sliding out of it's nighttime constrictions. One talks, one moves. Complementary actions at work in the middle of the night.

David whispers then, his voice moving into the timbre that I know well, "Come here, Jennifer."

I don't have to be told twice. His arms meet me half way, pulling me the rest of the way, sliding my body over his. His hands bury in my hair at the exact moment that I lean my lips toward his, needing to feel all of him, to meld our bodies.

His tongue takes mine in an easily unmatched duel, one that he controls from the moment we touch. I surrender, just as easily. Pulling away slightly, David soothes my lips with his tongue, then whispers softly, "What's wrong, honey?"

I just shake my head as I drop my head against his shoulder. But David Rossi is a man accustomed to getting answers, quickly, when he asks questions, and tonight is no exception. Dropping a hand to my growing tummy, he touches with a familiar hand as he says, "Baby awake too?"

My voice whispers, as if I don't want to disturb some unknown spell, "If she is, she's keeping quiet. Just barely moving."

And there's his grin again. Damn, I could die a happy woman if I got to see that every single morning. His fingers sweep against the satin of my gown as he says, knowingly, "Then she's not awake. Our daughter's not given to demure thoughts or actions, I'm afraid."

Covering his hand with mine, I reply as I settle closer against him, "I wouldn't say that, David. You were obviously asleep but more than vocal just a few minutes ago."

His eyes flash confusion for moment, then realization dawns in the dark pupils. He grimaces as he shifts his hand to my back, "Damn, Jen, you should have woke me up."

My head shake immediately as a forceful whisper escapes me, "Not tonight, honey. After today, you need sleep more than I do."

His sigh flutters against my cheek as he says, resigned, "We're not having this argument again, Jen, especially in the middle of the night. All's well that ends well, and the day is over."

I can't help myself. My father has often compared me, rather unflatteringly I think, to a dog refusing to give up a bone even when the meat is gone. Shifting against him, I press my hand against his chest for leverage as I start to say, "David, we both know that if I hadn't deliberately taunted our unsub in that press conference this morning, then he wouldn't have targeted me this afternoon."

David grabs my hand easily, tightening his grip as he says, sternly, "Not again, Jennifer. Listen to me and listen to me good. You did your job, just as we told you to do. It's my fault that you were out there in the first place, and I don't regret one bit having to shoot that son of a bitch. No man puts a gun on my wife and child and lives. Period."

My husband is the master at revisionist history, even in the middle of the night, and this is one of his better examples. Tempering my voice as much as possible, I measure my words as I say, "I believe once you review the transcripts again, you'll find that I went a few steps farther than you or Hotch wanted me to. It's my fault, David, and we both know it." Feeling the catch suddenly pulling at the back of my throat, I stop, knowing his eyes are still on me. I add, haltingly, "He turned the gun on you, David."

Eyes serious, never wavering, he nods at me then, his voice calm, "I intended for him to do that, babe."

I expode then. "You can't do that! You can't put yourself in the line of fire anymore!" And then, my voice breaks as I crumble against him, unable to stop. "What if we had lost you?"

Rolling us both, he eases me back against my pillow as he stares down into my eyes, his words firm but tender, "All three of us are still here. You're safe, our little one's safe, and I'm safe. Three for three, honey."

I open my mouth, and he quickly takes advantage of the opportunity to silence me in the way that he's learned works best. When we both draw back, oxygen deprivation on the horizon, David whispers, "That's it, honey. We're not going to discuss this again."

"David…." My sigh is obvious, but it gets me nowhere with him.

"Go to sleep, Jennifer. You and the baby both need it." Shifting me slightly, he pulls me tighter against him, my stomach resting between us. Our daughter takes that moment to agree with him, swimming from side to side, felt on the inside and outside in that way that only a six month guppie can do. Her father grins then, his voice laughing as he gently massages my stomach, "See! Our daughter knows I'm right, too."

The fight goes out of me. How this man has developed the ability to calm me with just a touch, I'll never know. But it happens. And I can't resist the moment, covering his hand with mine as I whisper, "Our daughter wants to have a long life with her daddy, too. Just like her momma."

He kisses me then, comfort more than passion. And as I finally fall asleep, my head against his chest, I hear his snores once again.

And this time, my daughter and I sleep with him.


End file.
